


Blueberry Vulcans

by jekyll_inside



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Comedy, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Humor, M/M, Oblivious Spock, Telepathic Bond, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-06 13:44:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8754325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jekyll_inside/pseuds/jekyll_inside
Summary: Snapshots from an eventful shore leave, where Spock isn't the only headache.
Or:The one where Jim drinks a Vulcan neurotoxin, and Spock has to deal with the aftermath - which, in retrospect... could have been worse.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hey hey! I was literally raised on Trek, but this is somehow my first time publishing in this fandom! yay! This is a collection of chronological snapshots, because who has the energy to write a continuous narrative in this economy?!  
> Hope you enjoy! <3

“Don’t you get it Bones?” Jim was looking kind of manic again, like he always did when the adrenaline was fizzing in his brain. “If we got one of the Excelsior class, we’d- we’d be able to do _twenty_ year missions! Maybe even _fifty_!”

“Fifty years in the impenetrable doom of space,” the doctor groused into his bourbon. “Vacuums, super-cold, god-knows-what kind of pathogens.”

“ _Exploration_ , Bones!” Jim threw out his arms, eyes sparking like blue roman candles and making Leonard feel tired just looking at him. “New life! New civilisations!”

“I know the propaganda Jim you don’t have to yell it at me.”

He grinned, then turned on the spot like a kid in a candy store just thinking about it, gaze lost somewhere in the middle distance as he no doubt imagined the Excelsior blueprints brought to life. Leonard snorted at him and sipped, but he couldn’t help be a little endeared. Jim was good at endearing people to his ridiculous enthusiasm.

“Did you hear it’s gonna hold 1500 people? And here we are with 430! Man, it’s like a city in the sky.”

“In Iowa, maybe.”

“I’m gonna get one, Bones.”

The doctor pulled the most doubtful face he could – he’d perfected the art. “You can’t even keep the _Enterprise_ intact, they’re not gonna give you anything higher than a Constitution class if they’ve got even half a brain. And who’s they, anyway? Admiral Balewa?”

Jim gave a bright, hopeful look.

Leonard snorted again. “Good luck.”

Jim wilted. Then perked up again. “I bet Spock will think it’s a good idea.”

“If I had a dollar for every time you said-“

“Spock, report to the ready room,” When Leonard looked up again, Jim had gotten out his communicator.

_“On my way, Captain.”_

“Oh for the love of Christ, Jim.” He started doing up the bottle of bourbon and downed the last mouthful. “At least give me some warning before you get Admiral Smartass in here.”

“Stay, Bones, I’m serious about this!” Jim said emphatically, starting up his ‘pacifying hand gestures’ routine as soon as the doctor stood up and started to cross to the door. “Isn’t a ship application worth a try?”

Leonard levelled him a sour look – he was in his off-duty jeans and t-shirt, all dark colours to ‘match his inner soul’, Uhura said, and the combination of that, the bourbon, and the glare reminded Jim of one time he’d stumbled into their academy dorm singing “ROMULANS, NOTHING WRONG WITH ‘EM,” before vomiting over both their beds.

“Sure, once you have a better reason than ‘I’ll have more people to terrorise’.”

But before Leonard could finish his hasty retreat back to his quarters, the door to the ready room whispered open.

“Captain, Doctor.”

“Spock!” Jim lit up like an over-energised sunflower again and the doctor rolled his eyes. “I’m putting in an application to get us one of the new Excelsior class ships!”

Spock was in the middle of his eighth consecutive shift on the bridge. The sonic shower in his quarters was malfunctioning, and the water option kept spurting out at random intervals with a loud gargling sound. Spock’s Vulcan sensibilities preferred quiet, dry places. The sound of hissing water was enough to wake him from even the deepest desert of his meditating mind and he was _exhausted._

“Is that so, Captain?” Not that he would convey that.

Jim nodded. “Yeah. I’m tired of the Enterprise being so _small_ , y’know?”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “The Enterprise is two hundred and eighty-nine metres long and approximately one million gross tons in mass, Captain. I find it hard to categorise that as ‘small’.”

“The Excelsior has thirty-four decks.”

“The Vulcan D’Kyr-type combat cruiser has forty-eight.”

“Yeah but I can’t apply for a _Vulcan_ starship can I?” Jim said, clearly put out by Spock’s lack of a positive response.

“Exactly Captain. The size of the vessel is not an adequate enough justification to apply for it.”

Jim’s mood switched like it always did – his manic optimism always collapsed in on itself given enough investigation. His shoulders sagged and his eyes dimmed.

“I guess you’re right.”

“Furthermore, I doubt Admiral Balewa will be amenable to such a request after the recent incident with her daughter.”

Leonard smirked from where he was watching in the corner. “Told you Jim.”

“Have you _seen_ Yemi Bolewa?” he demanded crossly, aiming it at the doctor seeing as Spock was probably oblivious to physical beauty of any sort. “And anyway, we were just messing around! God, haven’t you two got any sense of adventure?”

They looked at him, one quizzical, one still doubtful. He sighed, then waved a hand. “Whatever. Go on then Bones, get out of here.”

Leonard got up from his perch in the corner with no reluctance. “Don’t forget you’re eating at mine tonight Jim,” he reminded him as he reached the door, and it got him another wave of the hand as a ‘sure, sure’. Spock watched the doctor go in silence, then turned back to the captain.

“Do you still need something, sir?”

“Yeah Spock.” Jim exhaled. Spock always found his tendency to fall from total happiness to sullen realism so quickly surprising – if he were Vulcan, he’d be regarded as extremely ill. “You planning on taking any shore leave this time around?”

The commander straightened up slightly. “No sir. As I don’t require recuperation as much as other members of the crew, it seems most logical for me to stay aboard to survey the ship’s maintenance during our time on Gellef-5.”

“When was the last time you _did_ take shore leave?”

Spock paused. “I do not recall exactly.”

“Spock.”

“Yes Captain?”

“You always recall exactly,” he murmured, raising an eyebrow. They looked at each other.

“Fourteen months ago.”

“Four- Spock!”

Spock shifted his weight. “It is not necessary for a Vulcan to rest as frequently as-“

“You’re half Vulcan,” he interrupted flatly. “I swear Spock, the human half of you must be going stir crazy!”

“Your oversimplified model of my genetics does not serve as an adequate reason for me to-“

“Spock, you’re taking shore leave this time.”

“I strongly advise against it.”

Jim stared at him helplessly. “What, you hate it _that_ much?”

“I do not ‘hate’ anything, sir.”

“Except excessive laughter, small talk, the sound of water showers, my new haircut, that funny look Uhura gives you when you say literally _anything_ , clocks that tick…” He raised his eyebrows. “Need I go on?”

Spock gave him the look that was either exasperation or just his resting face – Jim still couldn’t work it out. “Are you ordering me to take shore leave, sir?”

“Do I really have to _order_ you? Come on, Spock. You can come with me to the capital, how’s that?”

The commander considered. Well, Jim _hoped_ that was what the silence was.

“If it will improve the captain’s morale, sir, then I will take shore leave. A healthy commanding officer is of more benefit to the crew than my supervision of repairs, which can be performed by another adequate crewman.”

Jim opened his mouth. Decided to take what he could get. “Okay!” he said with only a slight note of uncertainty. “That’s great Spock! That’s… great.”

“May I be excused to reorganise the duty roster in preparation for my absence, Captain?” Spock asked, and Jim could tell he was humouring him against his better judgement. He grinned.

“Great idea. Don’t forget to pack a bag, too!”

Spock looked at him. Then he excused himself with a polite nod.

 

*

 

“The thing is Jim, they like hiding. Classic predator strategy. You want to look for the banks where there are, I don’t know, grassy overhangs, logs, anything that a big bastard like a Ferengi Headed Bass can lie down, real close to the bottom. Trail your lure in the current – a sinker is best if you ask me, looks more like the kind of thing they’re hunting – then you gotta just wait. Wait for the moment when it _strikes_.”

The whole shuttle was listening to the doctor – it helped that most of them were ensigns from engineering, they always listened to his gory stories in the mess hall with open horror (and admiration). Leonard and Jim were leant close together over an old book – it was made of paper, with illustrations, and it looked like something out of a museum to everyone except the two of them – Leonard collected 21st century fishing guides, and Jim’s room in the academy had been unwillingly full of them.

“It’ll pull hard – you won’t miss it. But don’t reel it in until it’s exhausted or you’ll lose something, you hear? Nearly lost these two fingers that way.”

The ensigns’ wide eyes followed as Leonard gestured with the pinkie and ring finger on his left hand – in some lights you could still see where his wedding ring used to be. Jim nodded silently.

“Once you’ve killed it make sure you don’t stick around long – the buzzards on that mountain will have it off you in no time.”

“Doctor McCoy?”

He looked at the blonde ensign opposite him, and it became apparent he was completely aware of his audience. “Yeah Catherine?”

“Is that the fishing rod?” she asked, pointing into the hold behind them where the long black case was lying.

“Yeah, what about it?”

She chewed her lip for a second, glancing at her friends. “It’s just, we haven’t ever seen one before.”

Leonard stared at her like she’d just burnt down the whole Gellef nature reserve.

Jim grinned. “Haven’t you watched any old movies, Ensign?”

She opened her mouth, blushed, then closed it again – she’d only ever _seen_ the Captain twice since she’d been posted on the _Enterprise_ , let alone _talked_ to him.

“That’s a goddamn travesty,” Leonard growled, glaring around the shuttle. “Who else doesn’t even know what a rod looks like?”

After a moment, a dozen tentative hands were raised.

The rest of the trip was a strict lesson on the features and use of the vintage fishing rod.

 

*

 

Spock looked intensely uncomfortable. He was standing so rigidly it looked like even the slightest breeze would tip him over. Jim tried not to smile to himself and headed over.

“Having fun?”

The Commander looked around sharply, and Jim immediately prepared himself for the onslaught in those dark, affronted eyes. “Captain. This establishment is entirely inappropriate for my leisure time. I request permission to excuse myself, and perhaps reconvene with you at a later point, after you have satisfied your own need for-“

“Spock, it’s just dancing.”

He exhaled with surprising force. “Your use of ‘just’ is relevant only from a human cultural standpoint – dancing on Vulcan is either entirely avoided or used only in the strictest ceremonial contexts.” He looked across the dancefloor with the closest expression to venom his mostly impassive face could manage. “This is highly inappropriate for me.”

Jim sighed, stepping past the other man to signal the barman. “Don’t you ever try anything new, Spock?” he muttered.

Spock turned his head. “Humans readily prescribe this approach when it comes to others trying _their_ customs.”

“And Vulcans readily object to everything that isn’t part of theirs. Hi, I’ll get a Tr’p La on the rocks? Thanks.”

Jim received another glare as he turned and rested his elbows on the bar. He sighed again. “What, Spock.”

“If ordering a Romulan beverage for me is your attempt to pacify-“

“The drink’s for me, dumbass,” he returned, irritated now. “You know, trying things outside one’s culture and all that?”

“You will not enjoy Tr’p La.”

“Like you’ve tried it.”

“It is a derivative of a Vulcan medicinal concentrate used for diagnosing the most disruptive emotions of adolescents. It is approximately eighty percent ethanol, and fifteen percent Ven T’ley’ra, a neuroactive toxin designed to remove strong social inhibitions to aid diagnosis.”

Jim tipped his head back and blew out a breath, gazing at the colours thrown onto the bar’s ceiling. “Sounds perfect.”

The barman arrived with the small glass before Spock had a chance to add anything more. Jim thanked him, paid with his Federation bit card (Gellef-5 was yet to abandon currency), then brought the glass around so he could keep watching the dancefloor. Spock looked at the blue liquid.

“One benefit of the Romulan conflict for this establishment,” he began, “is that they will be unlikely to have a Romulan present to identify when they serve counterfeit liqueur.”

“What?” Jim had been about to sip. Spock clasped his hands behind his back with what the captain could have sworn was smugness.

“That is not Tr’p La.”

“How- you just _looked_ at it.”

Spock looked at him. Since Khan, they stood closer together.

“My sense of smell is superior to yours,” he informed him simply. “That has some kind of fruit liqueur in it that is not present in genuine Tr’p La – blueberry, I believe.”

But, contrary to Spock’s intention, Jim’s pale eyes lit up suddenly. “I love blueberry!” he said, as if it were a happy coincidence rather than a complete scam. Then he downed the drink in one gulp. Spock nearly grabbed his arm.

“Captain! Tr’p La is not designed for-“

But the warning was soon covered by Jim’s heaving, choking gasp. “S-Sweet _Jesus-!_ ” His eyes went very wide and he was immediately doubling over, dragging in breaths and nearly dropping the empty glass. Spock crouched, caught the glass, replaced it on the bar, then grabbed his upper arm in barely a moment.

“Captain-“

“Son of a bitch that’s strong,” he wheezed. An Andorian woman standing nearby gave them a slightly alarmed look.

“Captain, listen. The initial feeling is due mostly to the alcohol. Soon you will begin to feel-“

“Oh god-“

“-the effects of the Ven T’ley’ra. The sensation is something akin to-“

“My brain is coming out of my ears!” he cried, and grabbed said ears with his hands, eyes wide and staring. “Spock! I think my head’s leaking!”

Spock clenched his jaw and stood up. “We are leaving.”

“Spock seriously I think I’m dying!”

Jim stayed doubled over but peered up at the other man like a kind of deranged hunchback, sweat suddenly beading on his forehead. All of Spock’s muscles tensed.

“Follow me,” he said bluntly, but had no delusion that Jim was capable of doing anything of the sort. ‘Following’ consisted of his arms being grabbed, actually being _lifted_ a couple of inches off the floor, and being half carried, half pushed ahead of Spock towards the door. Jim complained all the way out of the bar and to the alleyway behind it, citing various symptoms from an imploding skull to his arms falling off.

“I thought you said it was fake!” he managed to yell once he was set down, still clutching at his head and collapsing against the bar’s outside wall. Gellef 5’s evenings were mild, the clouds a dark green as they chased the giant, setting moon - Spock crouched in front of him quickly.

“I was apparently mistaken. That establishment is breaking the law by selling it without a medical license. Captain it is imperative that you follow my instructions.”

“ _Spock_!” was the only reply he got, and the commander took it as a confirmation.

“Ven T’ley’ra is a neuroactive toxin, as I said previously. In order to limit the damage it has to your cerebral cortex, you must follow a particular set of meditative steps to-“

“TELL ME QUICKER.”

“Think of the faces of your family!” he said sharply, an unfamiliar feeling of fear making itself known in his stomach – he forced it down. “You must envisage their faces individually, focus on the-“

“Which family?!”

“Pardon?”

Jim had gone slightly green, lying with his cheek pressed against the dirt with such force it was like he was trying to bury his own head. “Which family? The- the _Enterprise,_ or my parents? My brother?”

Spock tried not to falter. “Your biological family. It must be your biological relatives.”

“Okay, then- then what?”

“Look at their faces and note the similarities with yours.” Spock searched his mind for wherever these words were coming from – memories of white rooms in the Vulcan psychological institute, the sound of his father’s own voice. “You are a combination of them. A product of a union in their genetics, nothing more and nothing less. Look at how you are similar.”

But Jim’s face did something pained and he suddenly convulsed, cursing sharply.

“Captain?”

“It hurts too much Spock!”

The fear grew in Spock’s stomach. “You must try, Jim!” He took his arm again tightly, leaning down so the captain could see his face whenever his eyes were open. “I will- I will assist you. Begin with your eyes. Who did you inherit your eye colour from?”

“My dad, my dad!”

“Correct. What colour are your mother’s eyes? Picture them and tell me, Jim.”

“Er-” his face scrunched up and he groaned, legs pulling up. “Like a kind of green and orange! It was a genetic anomaly from the colony her dad came from, she always said she got bullied for it!”

“Good. Now the colour of your hair.”

“I don’t know!” he blurted, “they were both blonde!”

“Your hair is dark, Jim, who had darker hair?”

“My dad!”

“Where does your name come from?”

“What?”

“James Tiberius Kirk, where do the names come from?” Spock said, thankful that they were in fact family names, he knew, and not original inventions by his parents as was a common human custom.

“James was my mom’s dad, Tiberius was my dad’s dad.”

“And Kirk?”

“My dad’s surname. My mom’s name was… was Winona Delaney before they got married!”

“Very good. Now, the _Enterprise_.”

“I thought you said bio- _fuck_ \- biological only?”

Spock decided on impulse to sit Jim upright before he cut his face on the stones – he moved like a ragdoll and let himself be propped up against the bricks without complaint. “This is the second stage, your friends,” he explained tensely. “Each stage is performed in order to give the patient a realised sense of their position in the universe, a sense of their belonging and interactions with-“

“Okay okay, do it!” he wheezed, visibly panting.

“Think of the faces of your closest friends on board. They depend on you and you depend on them, for solace and companionship. Tell me who they are.”

“Bones, Uhura-“

“Full names, Jim, tell me their-“

“Leonard McCoy, Nyota Uhura, Sp- _fuck_ I don’t know how to say your full name!”

Spock blinked, having never even considered his name to be necessary, then quickly pulled himself together. “It does not matter, say it as you imagine it is said and that will be sufficient.”

“S'chn… S’chn T'gai Spock, is that- is that-“

“That was correct, do not worry,” he reassured him, trying not to dwell on it even as something in his chest shook him strangely. “Now, think of their voices. Think of the others first, I will be silent so you can-“

Jim suddenly grabbed the arm that was holding his. “No don’t stop talking, I can’t-“

“You must, Jim.” The objection, to Spock’s confusion, didn’t surprise him in the least. Then he remembered he had been equally afraid of the silence as a child. “Think of their voices. Tell me what they’re telling you.”

Jim swallowed with difficulty and a frown chased across his sweating forehead. As the first beat of silence fell Spock used it to glance down the alleyway – they were, as he’d suspected, completely unobserved at this time.

“Bones was telling me about- about a fish he really wanted to catch.” Jim inhaled shakily. “A wrasse, a fucking wrasse. His accent was really strong, he always goes all country when he’s talking about fishing, I think he gets it from his Granddaddy Jameson. He’s- he’s saying how you’ve gotta look for banks where the fish can hide.” He stopped, started to look a little nervous even with his eyes closed, and Spock opened his mouth.

“Say more, Jim.”

“More? More. Right. Er. Oh, he’s talking to one of the engineering kids… Charlotte? Catherine? He’s ripping into her for not knowing what an old fishing rod looks like, poor kid. He’s saying it’s a ‘goddamn travesty’.” His frown deepened. “He…”

Spock watched him tensely, although the immediate fear was reducing just a little – Jim was still white as a sheet, and pain was tensing through him frequently – but he was concentrating.

“He’s talking about… a physiology exam. He’s really nervous, he hates Andorian physiology. He… He’s telling me about another cadet, a cadet he met in the library. Her name’s... it’s Uhura, we met Uhura in the academy.”

“Move on to her,” Spock instructed, quietly. It was encouraging that his mind was making the transition itself.

“Uhura? She’s…” He flinched as something hurt, and Spock squeezed his arm automatically. “She’s speaking lots of languages, I don’t know what she’s...” He flinched again, harder this time.

“You were in the mess hall together, last week,” Spock found himself saying. “You were laughing together at breakfast, what about?”

Jim thought about it, exhaling sharply. “Mess hall, mess hall… Oh! She was telling me about her sister. Her sister’s just joined the academy, the Mars Institute.” For the first time since the drink, Jim smiled tightly, eyes still closed. “She’s saying what a nightmare it is for her sister to keep her hair straight on Mars – the artificial humidity is crazy, she says. Uhura’s saying that’s going to be the least of her problems once the semester starts, her sister’s got Dr Boulder for her Andromeda System Linguistics – do you remember Boulder, Spock? He was such an asshole.”

Spock, of course, didn’t spend any time at the Academy’s Mars Institute.

“She wants to go into comms like Uhura,” he continued, oblivious. “Uhura’s kind of nervous for her – their parents don’t want both their daughters in the ‘fleet really, but – ah dammit what’s her name...”

Before Spock could open his mouth to supply it, Jim remembered. “Alika! That’s it, Alika. God, Swahili’s so pretty, isn’t it?” He almost grinned. “Uhura looked at me like I was a real dumbass when I said that. Anyway-“ Jim was starting to pick up steam. “Alika’s wanted to enlist ever since her older sister did. Uhura says Alika’s way better at Romulan than her – she hopes that maybe she’ll get a career in the diplomatic branch after a couple of years in space. Says it would be way safer if she was planetside.” He paused. “I worry about being in space sometimes too, to be honest. ‘Cos of my dad.”

Spock looked at him. Tried not to react, so as to not derail the progression.

“You see,” Jim said to his eyelids, starting to get more and more conversational in tone. “When the Romulan hull bust through the bridge of the Kelvin, the vacuum of space will have hit Dad before the explosion did – he would have been saved from getting burnt, but he would have basically been torn apart by the pressure change. Blood boiling, lungs bursting, all that. And it doesn’t matter what they say – we’ll never actually _know_ if someone lives long enough to feel that happening. So I basically live with the uncertainty of whether he died in unimaginable agony, or peacefully. And I can’t convince myself of the second one. I’m too pessimistic. Space is pretty merciless, you know? Even great guys die horribly. And my dad was a great fucking guy. I wish he hadn’t died. Sometimes I feel like if I don’t do the same, I’m not being a real captain. Because he died to save everyone else – I haven’t died to save anyone.

“And Spock will say that’s completely illogical, obviously.” Suddenly Jim’s face lit up with a grin, head lolling just slightly. “He’d say it’s completely illogical to want to die just because that’s what someone else did. But I do. I really want to die on a mission sometime soon. A big one though, where it’s important that I die so that Bones and Uhura and Scotty and Chekov and Sulu – hell, everyone on the _Enterprise -_ all make it out alive. I refuse to retire – if I live to retire? Fuck that. Not when we’ve lost so many kids. Kids, you know. Ensigns, barely out of the academy. I’m not as important as them, so if they’ve died, I better too. The captain is the first one on the line. Lead from the front, take the first phaser fire. I’d stretch my body-“ Jim started lifting his arms and Spock gently, silently let go of him. “Like the fucking hull of the _Enterprise_. Everyone could stand behind me. That would work. That would keep everyone safe. I just want to keep everyone safe.”

He dropped his arms. His eyes were wet behind his closed lids, but Spock said nothing. This was the Ven T’ley’ra, now that his brain wasn’t rejecting it.

“But Spock fucks the whole thing up.” Jim suddenly declared. “Spock. Damnit Spock.”

His companion realised at once why his father had always acted distant after Spock’s own Ven T’ley’ra. He’d probably said terrible things. He grit his teeth and waited.

“’Cos he doesn’t just do what you _want_ , you know?” Jim soon began again, this time frowning with annoyance. “I mean- he obeys orders, sure, Spock would cut his own arm off before being mutinous, but… ah man. He never stays _put_. I’d put him in the brig if it meant I could quit worrying, dammit. How am I supposed to kill myself and keep them safe if he’s running around being so frickin competent?”

Spock frowned.

“I had a cat, back in Iowa, she had kittens. And this one frickin kitten kept getting out the box and she had to keep fetching it. Just stay in the box, Spock! You’re all so frickin vulnerable, but you’re all spouting shit like ‘I can help, Captain!’ ‘It’s my responsibility, Captain!’ Goddammit. It’s _my_ responsibility, you’re all just asking to get blown up. What are you trying to do, make me sick? I’m sick with worry about you guys, goddammit.”

He sighed heavily. Spock watched his mouth curve down, watched him start grimacing as a tear escaped down his cheek.

“And that’s before we even _mention_ all the other Spock crap. It’s bad enough that you’re all going to die without me crushing on Spock like a kid. But it’s not my fault, is it? It’s not my frickin fault he looks like that, dammit. The guy’s got _bone structure_. Fucking hell. Bones knows, as well, speaking of bones. God knows how, I haven’t told anybody. But it’s not my _fault_! He’s smart, he’s like, the smartest frickin guy ever! And that’s…” he sighed, sounding slightly less annoyed. “That’s just the _best._ ”

Spock felt his face get very warm. He opened his mouth, had no idea what he’d say, and realised Jim probably wouldn’t hear him anyway at this point.

_He wanted to hear more._

He gritted his teeth against the urge, and lifted his hand to Jim’s face in the next moment. Dutifully, he lined his fingers up on Jim’s psy-points, fiercely ignoring all kinds of thoughts that rose up gladly at the contact. He didn’t even realise half of them were coming from Jim until he understood that the simmering, churning heat that was filling up his brain was what human lust felt like. He inhaled shakily. It did not appeal. It did _not_ , Spock, _concentrate_.

Jim made a soft sound.

Then he fell sideways. He was asleep before Spock caught him.

 

*

 

“Spppfff…”

“Rise and shine, dumbass.”

“…Wha…”

“You’re in the med bay Jim, and if I had a dollar for every time for every time I said that-“

Jim frowned, opening his eyes blearily against white light. “…The hell’s a dollar?”

Leonard McCoy’s expression of pure exasperation – the kind he wore especially for Jim when he injured himself – filled his vision.  “Look into the torch.”

“The-“ A torch suddenly appeared in his eyes and he groaned at even more light. He peered at it as best he could, though, because he knew Bones’s bedside manner far too well.

“You’re fine,” the Doctor soon groused, and both torch and face disappeared. Jim’s eyes focused a little more, the big round light on the med bay ceiling solidifying, and immediately he frowned.

“Shit, my head…”

“Vulcan neurotoxins will do that, you moron.”

“Vulcan?”

“You’re damn lucky that Admiral Smartass was there to give you an abortive mind meld, or you could have been in serious trouble.”

“Cap.. Spock?”

Leonard was rummaging through something on the trolley at the foot of his bed – Jim glanced around the med bay as best he could, and saw that other than the doctor’s staff performing their usual routine duties, they were alone.

“He’s on the bridge. Left as soon as you started coming round – I swear Joanna’s less of a teenager than you two.”

“Oh fuck.”

“You’ve already got morphine for the headache, Jim, I can’t-“

“Oh _fuck_ , Bones, I said something. I said something to Spock.”

Leonard looked at him from the foot of the bed. He frowned. “Well, whoop di doo, aren’t you two supposed to communicate every once and a while…?”

Jim started trying to sit up, a new kind of nausea settling in his stomach. “Not like that. As in, I said something to Spock… _about Spock_. _Fuck_.”

Understanding dawned on Leonard’s face slowly. A slightly manic, even deranged smile started to spread on his face. “Well, shit,” he said, in a voice of slowly rising joy.

“This is bad, Bones! I spilled my guts! I-“ Jim’s face went white, and he stared into the middle distance for a moment. “I- I talked about… _bone structure._ ”

“I am so happy for you.”

“…I want to die.”

“When’s the wedding?”

“I’ll never look him in the face again.”

“That’s a shame,” Leonard said, and suddenly, out of nowhere, he had his communicator up to his face. “Because Commander Spock will need a status report on the captain’s condition.”

“Bones don’t you fucking-“

“McCoy to Spock.”

Jim froze halfway across the bed, hand stretched out towards the communicator in vain.

“Spock here,” came the slightly metallic reply. Jim hadn’t seen Leonard grin like that since Jim had gotten slapped in front of the entire advanced piloting class.

“The Captain’s awake, sir. I’d like to update you on his status.”

There was a pause. Leonard looked utterly, excruciatingly confident as they waited.

“On my way Doctor.”

Jim sagged, and Leonard snapped the communicator shut with relish.

“You’re such a jerk,” he groused, immediately swinging his legs around to stand up off the examination bed. He was wearing, to his surprise, the clothes from his night out. They were covered in dirt, and his shoes were sticking to the med bay floor.

“You look _great_ , honestly,” Leonard told him with a genial smile, coming up to pat him on the shoulder. “You smell great, too.”

“When we’re back in space dock, remind me to break your nose.”

When Spock entered the med bay, an uncharacteristic nervousness quickening his step, he hadn’t expected to be confronted with his captain standing, glaring at him, and the doctor smiling. Such a role reversal did not bode well.

“Captain?” he asked. His voice came out softer than he intended, and he immediately straightened. “Captain. Are you well?”

“Spock, is it against regulations to throw the chief medical officer out an airlock?” Jim grit out immediately. Multiple nurses looked around at this, but on a quick inspection Spock noticed they were all in varying stages of amusement. Not an actual threat, then.

“You’re spooking him, Jim!” Leonard said then, and Spock received his first ever grin from the doctor. It was disturbing. “The captain’s just keen to talk things over with you, Commander. You can even use my office, if you like?”

“Damn right we’re using your office,” Jim growled, and before Spock had a chance to say anything, the captain was storming to the back of the med bay. After a pause, glancing carefully at the (possibly ill) doctor, Spock followed him.

 

*

 

Leonard’s office was dark, and the deep, every present hum of the Enterprise engine seemed muted beneath the floor. There was a couch against one wall and the doctor’s desk against another – the only window was the one in the door, so both so Leonard could forget about space, and about his more irritating colleagues. When it was just him and the doctor, Jim would automatically toss himself onto the couch and lie gazing at the ceiling as he chattered away, Leonard sitting at his desk chair so he could get some scotch out of the bottom drawer for them both.

But it wasn’t the time for that now.

“Captain.” Spock clicked the door shut carefully behind himself. Jim had made himself sit down but clearly against his better judgement, judging by the way he was shifting his weight restlessly from foot to foot, elbows on his knees.

“For the record, my head feels like it’s being chomped by a sehlat.”

Spock paused, tilting his head. “You have encountered Vulcan sehlats?”

“Whatever,” Jim waved his hand. Spock re-angled his head and brought himself back to complete seriousness in response. The captain was aggravated, no doubt with Spock’s own actions – it was illogical to detour from the matter at hand. He began again.

“Captain, the residual discomfort you are feeling is most probably caused by the mind meld that I performed yesterday on Gellef 5. My reason for doing this was in order to discontinue the harmful effects of the-“

“I know why you did it, Spock, I remember.” Jim looked at his shoes. They were brown, with straight, smart lines and a curious patterning that Spock had been surprised to see the captain wear – they were remarkably… elegant.

Then blue eyes were looking up and Spock straightened.

“Does your head hurt too?”

“My head, Captain?”

“Yeah Spock, your head. Does it hurt.”

Spock swallowed. “I am.. uncertain.”

That was, apparently, the wrong thing to say. The captain rolled his eyes and leant back with a thump, casting his gaze over to the doctor’s computer. Spock tried again, and felt strangely on edge.

“It is difficult to conceptualise the sensations of my mind in a way that you will understand as a human, Captain. Forgive me, I will attempt to be more-“

“All I’m asking is if you have a goddamn _headache_ Spock!”

“And I am attempting to clarify!”

If it had been a year ago, the captain may have stared at Spock for raising his voice – but an inevitability of becoming friends with James Kirk was shouting, and now Jim only grit his teeth at the same time that the Vulcan did.

“Captain. You… you are not psi-null.” Spock tried to release some tension in an exhale. “Your agitation is making this difficult.”

“Well I’m not going to relax while you’re pissed off either, so it looks like we’ve reached an impasse.”

“I am not-“

“If you say you’re not pissed off I swear to God, Spock.”

Spock huffed. “Then how shall I proceed?”

“Will you just answer some questions _directly_ for once?”

They looked at each other. Jim’s eyes seemed almost luminous, sparking in the low light and determined.

Spock clenched his jaw again. He exhaled. “Yes, Captain.”

“Why the fuck can I hear your thoughts.”

He… stopped. He stared.

He almost lost track of his internal chronometer.

“Spock?”

“I… what, Captain?”

“I said I can hear your- woah, Spock, easy!” Then Jim was suddenly standing up, and when Spock looked at his own left hand he found he had grabbed the wall to steady himself. Then the floor tilted.

“Spock, Spock, shit- Bones!”

“Do not call the Doctor!”

Jim had grabbed Spock’s shoulders as he’d sagged dangerously against the wall, and now the Captain stared at him in confusion. “But Spock, you look like you’re going to pass out!” Their faces were close, and Spock blinked several times.

“I am- I am fine.” He staggered, pushing himself upright off the wall. “Do not call the Doctor.”

“Spock-“

“Something has just changed in my psyche, that is all.” He swallowed hard and tried to focus his eyes again. “It is a- a reasonably common occurrence after a meld, do not… be alarmed.”

Jim didn’t believe him, that much was clear. His doubt and concern seemed to vibrate between them, like-

Like a thread was tying them together.

Something in Spock’s expression changed. Jim slowly, carefully let go of his arms.

“Are you… are you good?” he asked nervously, still standing very near. But Spock’s thoughts were now on something far beyond their conversation and his eyes were moving as if he was reading the ideas that were spinning round his head.

He had severed the meld correctly. He had. He had selected every strand that was James Tiberius Kirk and had untangled it from the anchors of his own presence with care and precision, there was nothing left to even simulate a meld. It had been difficult yes, exceedingly so, but that was to be expected when the Captain’s mind had been so distressed – it had clung to the order and control of Spock’s thoughts like a drowning man to a rock. But still doable. Then why…

“Spock.”

Spock looked up, met his gaze.

“You… you did sever it correctly.” Jim was frowning ever so slightly now, his eyes unfocusing.

“Do not attempt to read my thoughts, Captain, you are not-“

“I am capable, I am. Let me try, maybe I can help.”

“Jim-“

“Look, my first boyfriend was Betazoid, I’ve done this before.”

Spock’s face warmed inexplicably. “Your psi-level is too low to engage with my mind.”

“Trust me.”

“I-“

_Trust me,_ _ashal-veh._

Spock flinched and inhaled sharply. “J-Jim?”

_I told you, dummy._ The Captain’s eyes slid shut. He was, very slightly, starting to lean on Spock. _I’ve done this before._

Spock continued to stare at the other man’s face, even as his mind slowly relaxed. It felt as though warm water was being gently washed through his head, smoothing out the tensions and the confusions like a balm. It shifted occasionally, it’s tide permeating deeper. It felt completely organic, and Spock suddenly realised this was the first time a meld had not felt intrusive. If not… enjoyable.

_It’s not a meld._

_Then what is it?_

Jim grinned. _Oh man, you sound good in my head._

Spock blinked. _Jim-_

_It’s not a meld, Spock. You know it feels different._

Jim’s body was starting to drift forward significantly, and Spock took his arm for good measure, Jim holding the other.

“Then..” He swallowed. _Then we are…_

_Don’t say it, it’s fucking terrifying._ But Jim’s face was starting to smile.

Spock’s chest fluttered anxiously. _Agreed._

They didn’t say anything more, physically or mentally, for a few minutes. It felt like a lot, lot longer.

Then Jim opened his eyes. It was so sudden Spock almost jumped, even though he had known it was going to happen. The captain’s weight shifted as his mind entered his body fully again, and the tide of water receded from Spock’s brain. The resounding disappointment at its lack shocked him. Jim let go of his arm, but Spock couldn’t bring himself to do the same.

Then he felt fingers on the back of his hand. He sucked in a breath and his eyes snapped to Jim’s.

He suddenly looked like he was… burning. Despite having withdrawn, that string of awareness seemed to hang between them still. And this time, something in its fibres was getting warmer.

“Can I?” Jim whispered, so quietly it was barely above telepathy. His eyes had darkened in a fascinating way, and Spock’s whole body suddenly wanted to tremble. He barely realised he had nodded until Jim’s index finger was brushing down the side of Spock’s own, and the Vulcan couldn’t stop a small gasp, eyes fixing on Jim’s lips in the next moment.

Those lips grinned. “Yeah?”

His face flushed dark. “Yes, that is- yes.”

“Good, ‘cause I’ve literally never kissed a Vulcan before.”

“I- that is…”

“Here?”

Spock let out a soft sound and immediately felt intensely embarrassed. “ _Jim_ -“

“God, you’re so hot.”

As heat slowly started to fog up Spock’s mind, retaliation seemed the only logical response. He learnt, very quickly, that Jim’s mouth tasted of peppermint.

And they both learnt, very quickly, that the office walls were extremely thin – and that Bones could literally _squeal_ with horror.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading lovelies! Kudos and comments really do make my day <3


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